“In two months?” I joked.

“Leila.” She sighed.

“In all seriousness, I have yet to meet even a decent guy these past couple months. Mr. Perfect is a long ways away.”

“I never thought I would say this, but maybe you should go back to the serial-dating Leila from college,” Annie suggested.

“But weren’t you always advocating for long-term relationships?”

“You’re attempting to do in two months what most people spend half their lives on, Leila. This is the rare exception when you can’t just go on a few dates and expect to find the one. As much as I hate to say it, it’s about probabilities. The more dates you go on, the greater your chances are of meeting this crazy deadline.”

“I suppose I didn’t think of it like that.”

If this truly was a numbers game, then Annie was right: I was doing it wrong. Rather than going on one or two dates a week, I needed to amp it up.

As soon as I got home, I logged on to Muslims Meet—an app that brought together “single Muslims seeking a life partner the halal way,” with an image of a winking goat—and went on a swiping spree. I even swiped on a few questionable guys, but if they happened to increase my odds of finding “the one,” then I was willing to roll the dice.

That Tuesday, I kicked off my accelerated mission with an early dinner date with Imran, a hedge fund manager who had also swiped in my direction. Imran and I agreed to meet at a cafe downtown, and I was pleased to find that he had arrived before me. But as I walked up to the outdoor patio where he was seated, I noticed that he was engaged in what seemed to be an important business call.

“No, no, no. That was not what we discussed—” He gave me a slight wave and pulled out a chair. I sat down quietly, smoothing out my hair and waiting for him to finish. “We need to increase our capital expenditures—” he said loudly into the phone. He stood up and paced around the table. He was wearing a pale gray tailored suit paired with a crisp white button-down, and silver cuff links that gleamed each time they caught the afternoon light. I suddenly felt very underdressed in my striped maxi dress and open-toed sandals.

“Remember, it’s all about the macro trends. Especially in the global market. We need to buy the best stocks in the trend, and ride out that flow until it compounds.” I grabbed a menu from the table and tried to distract myself. Do I want the grilled portobello burger or the ahi-tuna wrap? I could barely think with how loudly Imran was talking.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Tell Benson to keep an eye on those dividends, and we’ll reconvene in an hour.” He finally sat down, dropping his phone on the table and turning his attention toward me.

“So sorry,” he apologized. “It’s been one of those days. Work never ceases to—” Before he could finish, he was interrupted by his phone. He paused midsentence and glanced down at the screen. “I just have to . . . ,” he said, holding up his index finger and accepting the call. “It’ll just be real quick.” He stood up. “I’ll be back in a few min— Yes.” He suddenly turned away. “Yes. Did you check with Benson to make sure there’s not a liquidity issue?”